Chuck vs the Santa Claus
by Rjalker
Summary: Chuck realizes too late that trying to keep an injured Casey company wasn't such a good idea after all.


Casey was drunk, his daemon stumbling around by his feet, weaving and twisting around the furniture as though trying to memorize it, growling and snapping under her breath every few seconds, her teeth coming dangerously close to Chuck's ankle at one point as she stared almost possessively at his socked feet.

The NSA agent had insisted rather strongly that Chuck take his shoes off before entering the apartment, and Chuck hadn't really been inclined to argue. Irijaya was perched on his shoulders, half hiding inside the collar of his shirt, peering down warily at the huge daemon as she stalked past on yet another round-about of the living room.

"Three wars," She hissed to herself, "Three wars!"

Chuck laughed nervously, and backed up a few skittish steps as the Irish wolfhound swung her head in the direction of his legs, dangerously close to his vulnerable feet.

He didn't really think Le'kayor was going to bite him—at least, he really, really hoped she wasn't going to—but he could still hear the gunshot echoing in his head, and he wasn't exactly feeling safe around his handlers right then.

He wondered morbidly if dogs liked the taste of sugar gliders.

Casey growled, sounding almost as vicious as his daemon as he shifted in the armchair he'd let himself fall into, and stared angrily at the glass of alcohol he'd tried to pour himself before Chuck quickly took over before they both ended up with injured feet. He didn't really feel like picking broken glass out of the carpet, and the way Casey had been wavering around refusing help, broken glass would have been a certainty, and the very least of his problems.

And...now Chuck was standing in the middle of Casey's living room, without any shoes on, trying not to get bitten by a possibly insane daemon and trying really hard to smother the guilt of what had happened to his friend.

Losing one toe, one toe, was nothing more than a vague idea in the middle of a crisis situation where not only his life, but the lives of everyone he loved were in jeopardy, was funny. Almost hysterical. A distraction. Nothing more. He'd only had time to be relieved that the bullet hadn't hit a more vital area.

Like an arm. Or a leg. Or Sarah. Or him.

Out of all of them, he had to admit that he was glad it was Casey that had gotten hurt. If anything happened to him, Ellie would kill him for sure, and he was pretty sure that out of all of them, Casey could afford to lose the most blood. He was, after all, twice as big as he and Sarah combined.

Not, not that he was glad Casey had gotten hurt—the man had lost two toes for crying out loud, because one of them had been completely destroyed, and another mangled beyond repair, and he'd kept trying to pretend that he was fine, but he hadn't been able to balance right even before he started drinking, and now he was ranting about wars again and everything was a disaster—but out of all the possible ways that situation could have gone, he was grateful for this outcome.

Then Le'kayor snarled again, low in her throat, her lips curling back to expose her teeth, and almost ran into Chuck's legs when she stumbled again.

Yelping loudly and leaping backward to avoid being knocked over, Chuck felt the back of his legs hit the front of a sofa, and gratefully let himself fall into it, pulling his legs up quickly when Le'kayor realized she now had more space to move in.

Okay. Okay. This was going great.

Irijaya climbed to the top of his head to look around for an escape rout, pressing herself flat against his hair so their host would be less likely to notice.

That, of course, didn't work.

Casey almost spilled his drink as he swung one arm to point at Chuck's head, his face breaking into a huge, grinning smile, "You got somethin' on yer head!" he said, his words slurring together alarmingly, "I—I think you oughta li—lighten up!" And then he burst into loud, guffawing laughter, as though he'd just said the funniest thing in the entire world. The wolfhound froze suddenly in her incessant pacing, one foot still raised to take a step, her head turning to stare at Chuck.

For a few moments, their eyes locked, and Chuck resisted the urge to laugh nervously. It was a bad habit of his, and it had almost gotten him killed on several occasions.

Then, suddenly, without warning, Le'kayor started laughing. Laughing so hard that she had to sit down so she wouldn't fall over.

Irijaya took the opportunity to quickly hide in the pocket of his shirt, while his mouth dropped open in both confusion and fear. "Uh, uh, what—what's so funny, guys?" He was starting to seriously wonder if he should call Sarah and ask her to rescue him.

Or maybe Ellie. Or Awesome. Surely they would insist that John get some rest? And stop drinking...quite so much alcohol?

"Oh, it's nothin'" Casey slurred, "Just—just an old joke. You wouldn' understand."

...Was that regret in his voice?

And his daemon had just been muttering something about war...

And then it clicked in his head, and Chuck's mouth fell open in horror. Casey. Drunk. After being shot.

Protecting Chuck, one of the most annoying people he knew, and how had everyone reacted? They'd laughed, and made fun of him, and made light of a missing toe.

"Well—well..." Chuck couldn't believe what he was doing. He was going to be dead before the night was over. Did it count as friendly fire if the one shooting meant to kill? "Maybe you could explain it to me. The joke, I mean." Irijaya peeked her head cautiously out of his pocket, her whiskers twitching as she stared up at him incredulously. "What are you doing?" she hissed.

"Making conversation." he hissed back, and then straightening his face quickly when Le'Kayor managed to get to her feet, still giggling to herself in a way that might have been cute if it were coming from, like a rabbit or a bird, instead of a dog bigger than he was.

Casey was staring at him with a strange look on his face. "You want me...to explain the joke?" It was skeptism and exasperation and bewilderment all in one.

Hey, but at least he wasn't angry!

"Uh, yeah." Chuck said, "I mean if you want to. Or, or I could just leave, let you be alone, if you don't feel like talking-"

"Don't leave." Le'Kayor commanded with a snarl, "You're not allowed to leave. Jay, tell them the joke."

"What? Why can't you?" Casey whined, the tone of voice coming out anything but comical with his eyes narrowed in the look he always gave Chuck when he was venturing into dangerous territory.

The wolfhound just snarled viciously in reply, and Chuck seriously began to wonder if he should be calling Sarah for help.

But then Casey sighed, and rolled his eyes. "I used to know a girl." He said flatly, glaring at Chuck as though making sure he were paying attention, "Her daemon was one of those red lemurs, you know, with the black face and tail? Sorta orangish, actually. I don't know why they're called red. And she would just walk around the ship with him sitting on her head, like it didn't bother her none that he was the size of a friggin kid. And, and then one day we took on some passengers, and the one, this stuffy rich kid-and his was a snake, mind you, a diamond back rattler-saw her doing it one time, and he was a doctor, so of course he was worried about all that weight on her head and, and she told him he had to lighten up...and..." He seemed to suddenly realize that Chuck wasn't finding the story very funny, and glared. "You had to be there." He growled.

Chuck quickly held up his hands, "No, no," he quickly assured, "I'm sure it was very funny at the time. Hilarious, even. Heh." Oh god he was doing his nervous laugh again. Casey was going to think he was mocking him. "So, so, uh, you mentioned you were on a ship? What, uh, what were you doing there? I mean, if you're allowed to tell me, of course."

Inside his pocket, he could feel Irijaya hitting her head against his chest in frustration.

Chuck wasn't really sure what he was even trying to do. Getting Casey to open up about his past didn't really seem like a good idea. At all. Especially not when Le'kayor had just settled down on the floor by Casey's chair. His feet were safe. He should just quit while he was ahead.

Casey seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because his brows was furrowed in a glare, before he lifted on lip away from his teeth and grunted to himself as though deciding Chuck wasn't worth the effort of elaborating any more than he already had.

"I can tell anyone anything I want." He finally growled out.

It was neither permission nor refusal for more questions, and Chuck just stared in silence, not wanting to provoke his teammate's anger.

Le'kayor lay her head down across her paws as she stretched out on her side on the floor, and a few moments of awkward silence filled the room as Chuck waited for Casey to speak.

"Oh, just get out already!" He snapped suddenly, tossing one arm toward the door.

Chuck didn't wait for him to change his mind, and managed to keep himself from running, for fear that it would make the wolfhound chase him. He grabbed his shoes, and didn't even bother putting them on before he was out the door, and jogging across the courtyard toward his house.

"Oh my god." Irijaya swore, climbing out onto his shoulder, "We are never doing that again, you hear me?"

"Never," he agreed without hesitation. He would leave the absolutely-dangerous job of getting to know John Casey to Sarah, who was actually qualified to be in life or death situations.

He didn't plan on finding out any time soon what sort of things Casey had hidden in his past. Anything they could drive Casey to the sort of nightmares he had-which had prompted Chuck to offer talking about it, because Casey had started talking in his sleep while they were at the hoepital-was something he definitely didn't need in his already frankly terrifying life.

He couldn't help but wonder, though, as he climbed into bed with his daemon curling up across his chest, who, or what, a Reaver was.


End file.
